


Bonus

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [581]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:51:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: thebaconsandwichofregret askedPrompt: "Oh no, he's hot!" Dealer's choice on pairing





	Bonus

Hiram had been hearing for weeks about his new boss’ hotshot sons.  Mostly, he made vaguely agreeing noises and kept his eyes on his work.

You couldn’t blame a father for being proud, he supposed.

Despite having been in the US for years now, the persistence and volume of Thanksgiving still surprised him.  Mostly Hiram stayed in the entire holiday and gave thanks he didn’t have to eat some grey, tasteless bird smothering brown…something.

Jeff however, refused to hear of it.  “Come on, Brains, you can’t stay in with a tv meal and Charlie Browns Thanksgiving Special for company.  Come over.” Hiram had tried to beg off, but Jeff was voluminous when he was persistent, and so Hiram found himself riding the elevator up to the family levels on his first holiday day off since starting at TI.

There was no-one in the foyer as the doors dinged open, and Hiram stepped out tentatively, not sure whether to call out, take off his shoes and go in, or just turn around and go home.  It was tempting, but he had promised.

“Hey!”

Hiram looked up halfway through toeing off his shoe, and nearly dropped the casserole dish he had clutched to his belly, wrapped awkwardly in a clothe bag.

A god in a truly awful apron that read ‘I burn it, you eat it’ was smiling as he leaned like a damn underwear model against the doorway that led to the noise.  “You must be Brains.  Sorry, dad has a thing about nicknames, I think he’s allergic to just being sensible.  I’m Scott, what should I call you?”

Hiram was acutely aware he was in one shoe, one sock, and the casserole dish was getting warm against his belly.  “H-H-Hiram.  Or B-Brains.  Either is f-fine,” he managed, stuttering and stumbling over his own damn name like he hadn’t since grade school.

Scott was ambling over.  “Well, welcome Hiram, and slash or Brains.  Let me take that, thanks,” he added, deftly plucking Hiram’s meagre offering away.  “Come on through, don’t mind the circus, we were all raised in a damn barn.”

Hiram took one look at that ass and nearly tripped over his own feet.  The sound of loafer hitting floor reminded him to kick off his other shoe, and he hurried after Scott into the lion’s den.


End file.
